


Cravings

by Augustus



Category: Music RPF, Popslash
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-06
Updated: 2005-08-06
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: Pregnancy's a bitch.





	

The loud ring of the phone beside her bed jolted Madonna awake from an exhausted and dreamless sleep. As always, it took her a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings of her hotel room. They all seemed to look the same, these days, but that didn't do anything to combat the initial feeling of disorientation she felt upon waking. Something to do with the air, she supposed. That or the left-behind traces of all the guests who had slept, laughed and fucked between the same bedroom walls.

The noise of the phone didn't help. Her heart pounding irritably within her chest, Madonna reached over to the bedside table and groped about until she located the receiver. 'Hello?'

'I've changed my mind.' The voice at the other end of the line was thin and hysterical. 'I don't think I want this baby after all.'

'Britney?' Yawning, Madonna stretched to flick the switch on the lamp above the headboard. The digital numbers of the clock-radio beside her bed suggested it was nine minutes past six. Only someone who looked like Britney Spears would get away with calling her at that time of the morning. Then again, only Britney Spears would think to try. 

'Do you think it's too late to get rid of it?'

'At eight and a half months? Just a little.'

Britney's sigh seemed to echo down the line. 'How did _you_ cope?'

Resigned to the fact that she wouldn't be getting any more sleep that morning, Madonna scooted up in bed, arranging the pillows behind her back so that she was a little more comfortable. 'Healthy food, yoga and a nap in the afternoon,' she said, wondering when Britney had retrained as a journalist.

'Healthy food?' Britney snorted. 'I gave that up in my second trimester. I felt a _lot_ more human once I was eating fries and chocolate again. Besides, that's not what I meant.'

It was too early in the morning to play games. 'What _do_ you mean, then?'

'I can deal with looking like I swallowed a sumo wrestler. I can cope with the peculiar cravings and idiots who think it's amusing to rub my stomach for good luck. I can even put up with the pimples, the mood swings and the constant need to pee... but if I don't get laid _now_ I think I'm going to burst!'

Madonna suppressed a snort of laughter. 'What about Kevin?'

' _Kevin_?' Britney repeated. 'You've got to be kidding! He says he's scared he's going to poke the baby's eye out.'

'Have you explained just how impossible that is?'

'No, I told him he was delusional if he thought his cock was anywhere _near_ that long. It's just an excuse.'

'You don't know that,' Madonna argued. 'A lot of men _do_ worry they'll hurt the baby, or traumatise it, or something equally ridiculous you'd have to be male to come up with. Perhaps you could get your doctor to have a word with him...'

'Lovely idea in theory, but it wouldn't work,' Britney snapped. 'He doesn't find me attractive any more and that's all there is to it.'

'You don't know that,' Madonna said as sympathetically as possible. She was getting far too old for reassuring girl talk.

'Yesterday I caught him telling our neighbour that he wouldn't be able to get it up for me if he tried.'

Madonna raised an eyebrow. 'He talks about that sort of thing with your _neighbours_?'

'He's never been good with the concept of privacy. I'm just glad it was a neighbour and not the press.' Britney sighed loudly. 'Do you think they'd schedule an early caesarean if I paid them enough?'

'It's unlikely.' Madonna coughed delicately. 'Can't you just... take matters into your own hands?'

'I can't.'

Madonna could just picture Britney blushing prettily at the other end of the line, perhaps with the fingers of one hand twisting girlishly within the strands of her perfect, salon-blonde hair. 'I thought you were through with the innocence lark,' she said, if only to distract herself from the image. 

Britney's laugh was charmingly self-effacing. 'Thank God.'

'Then what's the problem? I thought you'd "come to understand the touch of your hand".' Madonna smirked. You could take the girl out of the south, but not the south out of the girl, she observed. No one _truly_ at home with their own sexuality would feel the need to hide it behind such contrived lyrics. 

'I have.' The blush was back, Madonna decided. It was practically audible in each syllable. 'That's not what I mean. I've tried. Dear _God_ I've tried.' The volume of Britney's voice dropped to a confidential level, her words now thick with frustration. 'I can't _reach_.'

Madonna bit her lip to stop the giggle that threatened to escape from between her lips. 'And Kevin won't...?' The loud harrumph of annoyance at the other end of the line was answer enough. 'Okay, I guess not.'

'He's damn useless. I guess I just have to resign myself to dying of frustration.'

Madonna shifted slightly in her bed. 'We'll, there _is_ another option...' she began, expecting to be shot down in flames with every second that passed, but unwilling to let such a fortuitous opportunity pass without at least giving it a try. 'I could... That is...'

Britney's squeal echoed down the line. 'Would you _really_?' 

Madonna blinked, amazed. 'Well, it's been a few years since my last booty call, but I guess I—'

'You know the address, right?' Britney jumped in, ignoring her. 'Third house on the left.'

* * *

Britney's home was huge and ostentatious, a combination of pillars and marble that gave the overall impression of a southern mansion that had been plucked from its original home and deposited thousands of miles to the west, in the Hollywood hills. When Madonna arrived at the gates, it was Kevin who buzzed her in, and she might have been a little bemused by the show of approval if it wasn't for the look of abject desperation that shone from his eyes when he met her at the front door. His expression lightened a little as he took in Madonna's sweats, ponytailed hair and complete lack of makeup.

'Hey, we can't be switched on all the time,' she said smoothly, letting Kevin lead the way to the master bedroom, where he left her without a word, seemingly reluctant to go anywhere near his wife.

The reason for such behaviour became clear as soon as Madonna opened the door. 

'I thought I told you to stay out until you were ready to fuck me,' a voice stated icily from amidst the towers of pillows and cushions atop of Britney's bed.

'You don't mince words, do you?' 

Madonna laughed as a pink-cheeked face appeared from underneath one of the largest pillows.

'Sorry. I thought you were someone else.' Britney swung her legs over the side of the bed and laboriously raised herself into a sitting position, one hand placed firmly in the small of her back. 'He's scared of me, you know.'

'I don't blame him,' Madonna said truthfully, taking a seat beside Britney on the bed. 'A pregnant woman and an itch to scratch is a formidable combination.'

Britney prodded her stomach. 'If I'm stuck waddling around with _this_ , I think a little moodiness is only to be expected. I'm _huge_.'

'Means to an end, I guess,' Madonna offered. 'When it's over you'll forget all this.'

'It won't be over for _weeks_. And I'll have the stretch marks as a reminder for the rest of my life.'

Madonna grinned. 'You'll live.'

'You don't know that,' Britney muttered petulantly. 'If I don't get laid soon, I may well die of horniness.'

'Is that a hint?'

Britney managed a wry smile. 'It's a desperate plea for assistance.' She laughed bitterly. 'The press would have a field day. I can just see the headlines now: "Britney Spears reduced to begging for a pity fuck".'

'Pity fuck?' Madonna leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. 'Huge or not, honey, you're still beautiful. And besides, I've always liked a woman with a generous stomach. It's so feminine, you know.'

Catching Madonna's eye, Britney laughed. This time it was full of amusement, rather than the previous frustration. 'Chubby chaser.'

'So they tell me.' Grinning devilishly, Madonna fingered the collar of Britney's shapeless maternity dress. 'I'm afraid this dress is a crime against fashion,' she remarked. 'It'll have to come off.'

Britney eagerly did as she was told, only to freeze with embarrassment once the dress had been discarded and her sensible beige underwear had been revealed. 'When I'm not the size of a house I tend to dress a little more attractively,' she muttered, self-consciously crossing one arm across her swollen breasts.

Madonna smiled and gently brushed Britney's hair back from her face. 'You won't be dressed in anything at all, once _I'm_ done with you,' she said softly, and was rewarded by one of Britney's most brilliant smiles.

'Thank God you were in town,' Britney said, as Madonna busied herself with tossing what seemed like a dozen extra pillows from Britney's bed.

'I was just hoping to get lucky,' Madonna replied, pausing briefly to smile reassuring at Britney before pushing her back onto the bed. 'I do it with all the pregnant girls.'

'Thank you.' Britney's voice was soft, although she was already squirming beneath Madonna's touch.

'Don't thank _me_ , Britney.' Madonna raised her lips from the soft curves of Britney's thighs. 'I should be thanking you.'

Britney just laughed. 'How about if you agree to be Godmother after all? Then we can call it quits.'


End file.
